


Under the Surface

by Misty_Floros



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Asexual Relationship, F/F, Metaphysical Shenanigans, Missing Scene, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25547626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misty_Floros/pseuds/Misty_Floros
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley swap more than just their corporeal forms – there’s no way residents of Heaven and Hell wouldn’t be able to see through human flesh. They deal with the setbacks.Companion piece to “The Full Picture”.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 13





	Under the Surface

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read after, before or, if you manage that, simultaneously with [The Full Picture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085431).

“This can’t work.” 

Crowley was looking at her body. The last time she’d seen it from the outside had been when she’d got discorporated at the turn of the eighteenth century, having been dumped overboard a pirate ship. After a few months’ worth of rotting away in the damp waiting room of the 3rd Department for the Allotment of Bodies, she’d been met with the strange sight of her brand new body being unceremoniously wheeled in on a stretcher. 

Its countenance had been perfectly blank then. Now, with Aziraphale wearing it, it was frowning in a concerned manner. Crowley was positive she’d never made such an expression – truth be told, she wasn’t even sure she knew how to move her facial muscles to form it. 

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale replied. Even though she said it in Crowley’s voice, the cadence remained tellingly hers. Her currently yellow eyes betrayed a sort of softness and openness, and Crowley hoped to bloody someone she didn’t normally look like that. 

“Choosing our faces. It’s not enough. I can still tell it’s you in there.” 

Aziraphale hadn’t stopped frowning. “Yes, so can I. It does seem unlikely that demons wouldn’t be able to recognise an angel in a demon’s clothing, so to speak. Although, perhaps if we believed enough...?” 

“I’m not sure belief can change others’ perception of us. I wouldn’t place my money on it, is what I’m saying.” 

Aziraphale looked down at her hands, which were clasped together in front of her belly. Crowley suppressed the urge to laugh at how out of place her body looked at that moment, all correct posture and rigid spine. She hadn’t known it was possible for her body to stand straight. 

“Perhaps...” Aziraphale started and fell silent, reconsidering. 

“What?” 

Aziraphale caught her eye and looked away sheepishly. “If we exchanged a part, a small part of course, of ourselves...” 

“You mean, of _ourselves_?” Crowley reiterated, eyes widening. 

Aziraphale nodded uncertainly. “It could serve as a sort of cloak – a camouflage not only against prying eyes, but also against prying unearthly senses.” 

Crowley shook herself out of stupor. “All right. All right, let’s say we do that.” She stepped away from Aziraphale, leaving her personal space. She paced towards the wide window looking out into the street, turning her gaze up at the overcast sky, not really seeing it, just peripherally perceiving it. The presence of the expanse of calm darkness helped to soothe her nerves. “And let’s say we’re right about the hellfire thing. So I march Up with a piece of you,” she definitely didn’t blush or stutter, “serving as camouflage. They think I’m you and let me in. They throw hellfire at me and then what? The piece burns to crisp?” 

“Oh, yes, that does sabotage the initial purpose of this whole charade, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale mused. Crowley felt slightly disheartened that what to her seemed like a nerve-rackingly emotional experience, Aziraphale was calling a charade. “On a second thought,” the angel resumed, “I don’t think it’s an unacceptable sacrifice. What do you think?” 

Crowley pondered that, staring past the grey lumpy layer of clouds against the sickly reddish hue of light-polluted firmament. She visualised the scene: she, in Aziraphale’s body, setting foot in the clean void of Heaven, and then there’s Sandalphon with his smarmy mug and Sandalphon grinning while he fries her with a hellish flamethrower, and a piece of Aziraphale burns away like a paper wrapping. The angel would probably feel that, wherever she’d be at the time. 

“There must be another way,” she replied at last. Although, that might not have been the best wording – she didn’t particularly believe the fabric of the universe had an effective way to deceive Heavenly and Hellish superiors woven into it. With that in mind, Crowley amended, “I mean, we’ll think of something.” 

She studied her reflection in the windowpane. It made her feel all warm and jittery to look at herself and see Aziraphale’s body. It was the level of trust in the gesture, she supposed, even though the rational part of the demonic essence that was currently crammed in Aziraphale’s corporation’s brain was telling her this stunt was borne entirely of self-preservation. 

“Well,” she thought aloud, “if we could somehow shield that piece of borrowed essence... Picture this: they try to zap me with hellfire. A second before they pull the trigger, or the celestial equivalent thereof, I somehow move your energy so that it isn’t hit. Then I can only hope the fire distracts them enough not to notice any change.” 

She watched Aziraphale’s reflection in the window. The angel was scowling again. Crowley had half a mind to reach over and smooth the creases out. She’d say, “Stop frowning or you’ll give my face extra wrinkles.” She wouldn’t mean that, of course. She didn’t care if her face was wrinkled, and even if she did, their corporeal forms didn’t work that way. What she would truly intend to say would be, _Don’t worry, angel, I’m worrying for two._ She’d heard that in a song once – although the endearment had been different, she thought – and it had stuck with her. 

“But it’s still going to be there, moved about or not,” Aziraphale objected. “Does it matter what’s on the surface and what isn’t? Holy water destroys all demonic matter in its path.”

And that was another thing. The prophecy didn’t say anything about water – it only mentioned fire. While their plan, the only one they had, put Crowley in Aziraphale’s place so the angel would survive, it also potentially made Aziraphale the target of a punishment meant for Crowley, and who knew what that could be?

“At least Hell wouldn’t be able to kill me,” Aziraphale had said. “Or they’d think they couldn’t, in any case.”

“There are far worse things in Hell than death, angel,” Crowley had replied.

“Well, at least if we do this, you’ll be alive to rescue me from whichever circle of Hell they hurl me into.”

Crowley was nowhere near powerful enough for a stunt of that sort. Her face must have been betraying her hopelessness, because Aziraphale had reached over and had squeezed her hand with a tentative smile probably aiming to reassure.

Presently, Crowley mused, “Would holy water destroy said demonic matter even if it were surrounded by something impermeable?” 

Aziraphale took a moment to think that over, and her face brightened. The yellow eyes got all wide and glowy, and Crowley was positively mortified. When she got her body back, she absolutely needed to check her expressions in a mirror. 

“Actually, yes, it could work,” the angel said. “Holy water doesn’t pass though angelic matter, not really. It laps at it, rather.” 

“Hellfire does pass through, I think,” Crowley pondered, the tone of her voice dejected. 

“Well, as I said, it wouldn’t be an unreasonable sacrifice.” 

Crowley turned around to face Aziraphale. “I’m not letting...” 

“If it can save our lives, dear...” 

The image of a part of Aziraphale incinerating while Crowley was borrowing it – while she was looking after it – filled her with dread. “Fuck no. We have to find a way around it.” 

The angel gave her a small smile. “We can figure that out later. We have more pressing issues on our hands, such as how to even perform the exchange in the first place.” 

Crowley shrugged, leaning against the stripe of white wall next to the window. “The same way we did the first one, I reckon. Just instead of a body, imagine transferring... you know.” _Your soul_ , she didn’t say, because aside from being inaccurate, it sounded... how did it even sound? Terrifying? Horribly intimate to the point of being something you should never participate in with another creature? 

“Right,” Aziraphale responded, rolling her shoulders as if preparing for battle. “Come here, then, dear.” 

There was only so much you could do when the softest, loveliest angel in existence told you to come here, dear, so Crowley went. 

Aziraphale held out both of her hands, palms up, and Crowley placed her own hands in them. Crowley felt like she hadn’t had enough time to think this though, like she was diving headfirst into unknown waters. She was very much aware, however, that Heaven and Hell could come knocking any minute. (At least, Heaven would probably knock to keep up appearances; Hell wasn’t exactly up to date on abstract concepts like privacy.) 

How the Heaven was Aziraphale keeping so calm? She was supposed to be the nervous one, bless it, not Crowley. Crowley was the one who glided through existence like the world’s most rakish reptile – because that was what she was. She wasn’t supposed to be the one whose heart was beating a mile a minute. The thought that it was technically Aziraphale’s heart wasn’t doing her state of mind any favours. 

“You ready?” Crowley asked, her voice sounding strangled in the way Aziraphale’s did whenever she returned from Above and hadn’t yet imbibed a bottle or two to banish the stress of speaking to the higher-ups. 

Aziraphale nodded, closing her eyes and squeezing Crowley’s hands. Crowley shut her eyes, too, the movement coming in a half-natural fashion – no matter the human body inhabited, she remained a snake deep down. 

Demons weren’t supposed to divide themselves. It didn’t feel quite like hacking a limb off of a living organism; the sensation resembled rather an attempt to split up a clump of iron chunks bound together by a powerful magnetic field. The entirety of Crowley’s being protested as she uncoiled thin, black fibres from a non-vital area of herself and let them float into empty space, waiting for Aziraphale to catch them. 

Almost immediately, the vacant place started to cave in on itself, threatening to drag more and more energy into the crater. Crowley quickly reshuffled her matter, smoothing out the uneven place. Above the surface, a substance so bright it almost blinded her flowed and swirled. Crowley tried to pull it closer and wrap it around herself, but another part of her repelled it. She shot out a loop, not unlike a solar prominence, and touched the bright substance. 

The contact produced an avalanche of sparks and sizzling, like cold water poured onto a hot pan. When anything fatal failed to happen, Crowley’s subconscious stopped protesting and let her integrate the ethereal energy. She intended to hold it on the surface, but it bubbled and fizzed through her before she could stop it, leaving a trail of subdued, intoxicating heat in its wake. She feared their little experiment would lead to a giant explosion after all, but then Aziraphale’s essence settled on the edges of its own volition, creating a thin crust. Suddenly, everything went divinely quiet, and Crowley felt as if she were lying in a pool of warm, pristine water. 

“Crowley! Crowley, are you all right?” someone was inquiring in a panicked voice, driving her attention back to the Earthly plane. 

She blinked. “Oi, Aziraphale,” she drawled, smiling blissfully up at the angel, who was leaning over her with a distraught expression. “Why the long face?” 

“Why the... Crowley! You fainted!” the angel squeaked. 

“Not cool, making my voice sound like that,” Crowley remarked. Then she took account of her surroundings. She wasn’t upright but didn’t feel entirely horizontal either. She turned her head to the left and was met with the sight of her own black shirt. Spindly arms, currently Aziraphale’s, were cradling her, keeping her in a half-seated position. 

“What happened?” the demon asked. 

“You lost consciousness.” 

“Hm,” Crowley said, unperturbed. Everything was so cosy and tranquil. 

“How do you feel?” There were creases of worry on Aziraphale’s forehead, and this time, Crowley lifted her hand to even the skin out. She couldn’t help herself. She pouted when it didn’t work and instead made Aziraphale frown harder. 

“Sorry, what was the question?” the demon said. 

“I asked how you felt.” 

“I feel... high.” 

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows. 

“You know, like...” Crowley began explaining. 

“I know what it means,” Aziraphale cut her off matter-of-factly. 

“’Course you do,” Crowley muttered. She moved to stand up, and Aziraphale helped her with an arm around her back. “’S prolly the angel mojo,” the demon said once on her feet. She rubbed her eyes – her vision seemed somewhat out of focus. She squinted at Aziraphale. “You look... well, you _feel_ demonic.” 

“As far as I can tell, the exchange was successful,” Aziraphale chirped, sounding incredibly proud. “You’re neatly dissimulated as well.” 

Crowley continued squinting at Aziraphale. She felt like she was looking at herself. “Wow, this is really something. I think I need a drink or five.” 

“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed, and so they ambled across the living room and in the direction of Crowley’s kitchen. 

“I must say, dear, I feel like we’ve done something so forbidden that nobody’s really thought to forbid it, as nobody’s thought anybody would do it.” 

“You’ve got the right of it.”

* * *

“Well, lovely knowing you all,” Crowley stalled, and this was the moment. She hardly registered her next words, hoping they were in character, and concentrated on loosening the mantle of ethereal energy enveloping her. She quickly tangled it into a cluster and sent it gliding under as many layers of concentrated darkness as she could. She stepped into the fire. 

Don’t let it burn, she pleaded with who knows whom, curling around the bundle protectively. I won’t let it burn, she thought then, firmly. I won’t let it. 

Whoever conceived hellfire apparently hadn’t counted on a demon’s love.

* * *

“You’ve taken good care of it,” Aziraphale observed as they wandered out of the park and proceeded in the direction of Crowley’s flat. They had settled into their habitual corporations; the second exchange, however, had yet to take place. “Of me,” the angel added with a small, almost secretive upturning of lips. 

“Of course,” Crowley responded, pretending she wasn’t smiling like a loon. Every variable had worked out in their favour, against all odds. She didn’t say that aloud, however, because she knew Aziraphale would respond using a certain annoying i-word.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you have a nice day.
> 
> Also, huge thanks to the readers who have left kudos and comments on stories in this series :-)
> 
> "Don't worry, I'm worrying for two" is from the song 1937 State Park by Car Seat Headrest. (It's not particularly relevant or anything, I just thought it described what Crowley was feeling at the time.)


End file.
